


The Weight We Bear

by runicmagitek



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Defying Destiny and Subverting Expectations, Drabble Sequence, Gen, Introspection, Post-Canon, Starting Over, Treat, Triple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:20:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25364509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runicmagitek/pseuds/runicmagitek
Summary: She was groomed for a life she never asked for, wearing the proper fashions to fit that royal Hylian image.And what for? To fulfill a stupid prophecy? Zelda wondered if her ancestors succumbed to such drivel.Now free from Calamity Ganon, Zelda contemplates a new life, whereshedecides her own fate.Or: How Zelda Got Her Groove Back And Gave Herself A Cute Haircut
Comments: 20
Kudos: 31
Collections: Multifandom Drabble 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rynling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynling/gifts).



She never gave much thought to her hair before. Handmaids washed, brushed, and styled it to adhere to traditional garb. Sometimes they slipped in the occasional, modern flare—just to make the young princess smile. First it was ribbons woven into braids, then flowers, then gold leaf, and then there was nothing.

Zelda stared at her reflection a hundred years later in the same mirror she kept in her bedroom. Dirt and cobwebs embedded into the glass and no amount of cleaning salvaged the splintered surface. The fractured image looking back at her was no different from the portraits of her mother. And her mother. And _her_ mother.

An endless lineage, where the roots ceased to grow and gave way to horrific voids.

She hated what she saw, hated the woman she became. But the truth was she didn’t become _anything_. She was groomed for a life she never asked for, wearing the proper fashions to fit that royal Hylian image.

And what for? To fulfill a stupid prophecy? Zelda wondered if her forgotten ancestors succumbed to such drivel. She wanted to believe it secured peace in the kingdom, but the legends spoke nothing of happiness. For the people and herself. Turning her hand over—the sacred symbol no longer glowed there—she wondered what such a life was like. To be unaware of fate’s intention and experience life for her own sake. Would the people of Hyrule forgive a streak of selfishness if they understood what she endured?

Zelda pried her sights from the mirror to drink in the castle’s ruins. What good did this so-called prophecy bestow?

As she abandoned the mirror and her room and the castle grounds, Zelda couldn’t ignore the weight tugging at her scalp—a constant reminder of the chains she was born into.


	2. Chapter 2

She never held a real sword before she met Link. Sometime she bolted into the barracks, swiped the nearest, wooden training sword, and flailed it like the pirates she read in her bedtime fairy tales. But that was when she was a child, before she ever comprehended the reality that loomed over her. Back then, her father clicked his tongue and scolded her; such tools were not meant for a lady, let alone a princess. She remembered those words when Gerudo’s Champion visited the castle, a jeweled scimitar glistening at her hip.

A thousand arguments swirled on her tongue; she swore to brandish them better than blades. No amount of screaming, either at her father or into her pillow, changed her circumstances. If anything, it frustrated her further.

But then the world crumbled and she carried the Master Sword to the Great Deku Tree. The weight never registered to her as she ran, fueled by adrenaline, guilt, and spite. She paid no attention to her trembling limbs as she released it. Perhaps she was tired. Or stressed. Or something else she couldn’t find the right words for, because she was _exhausted_ by always needing to do so.

Now her father was gone and Link was asleep at their lodgings in Kakariko Village—neither could stop her from approaching the Master Sword again.

Zelda wobbled as she unsheathed it, a faint blue glow emitting from the blade. Holding her breath, she tip-toed to the mirror in the humble suite. A single candlelight flickered on the counter, gently highlighting her features and casting the rest into darkness. A hundred years locked with an evil entity numbed her to the presence of shadows.

Steading her breaths, Zelda eyed her image, grasped a handful of hair, and brought the blade to the blonde locks.


	3. Chapter 3

She never expected Link to mention anything, let alone notice. The boy was too occupied with oddities such as the contents of pots and borderline terrorizing the local cuccos and placing apples on empty, stone pedestals. It left Zelda wondering if this was what delayed him from reaching Hyrule Castle, only to forget the moment Link gawked at her.

Not that she could blame him. Zelda startled herself from a mere glimpse before breakfast. That horrific entity she wrote off was indeed _her_. At least the citizens of Kakariko averted their attention, which Zelda deemed as a courtesy in the presence of the princess.

Link’s expression said otherwise. As did the other travelers they crossed on the road west— _especially_ a particular merchant with an over-sized pack. Zelda huffed and clenched her jaw, ignoring the lopsided locks scratching her neck. Link offered help multiple times, mostly in an attempt to tame her hair into a ponytail, but the stubborn stubs always broke free. Too short to do anything with.

Just as dreadful as her longer, elegant look.

But they reached Gerudo Town and the anxiety of meeting the Gerudo Chieftain for the first time with _that_ pathetic excuse of a hairstyle almost suffocated Zelda.

And Riju merely squealed and clapped her hands.

“Wow, your hair! You look _nothing_ like the descriptions of our texts.”

Zelda blinked. “I um… well, you see….”

She expected Riju to laugh, to ridicule her while she explained. Nothing braced Zelda for the swift, soft hands catching her own.

“If I spent a hundred years unable to do my hair,” she said, “ _I_ _’d_ want to chop it all off, too.”

Zelda eyed the elaborate red hair swishing past Riju’s knees. “Would you?”

“It’s hair, yes? It grows back. Better that than to lose your life.”


	4. Chapter 4

She never wanted to be a princess.

She wanted to train with the knights sworn to protect her. She wanted to devour every book in the library, then the archives, then scribe her own. She wanted to explore the corners of the world and understand the history the land hid from scholars. She wanted to be grateful for every waking day spent living her heart’s desires.

How was she to accomplish that while enslaved to tradition?

But the castle and royal lineage collapsed and Hyrule moved on. People paved new roads to walk, knowing the worn, common routes were riddled with debris and beasts. Towns flourished, wildlife bloomed, and Zelda laughed alongside Riju, just the two of them—not a single guard or servant in sight.

Hours passed since Riju finished her hair. She trimmed the uneven layers, conquered pesky frizz with fragrant oils, and restored Zelda’s hair to its former golden sheen.

Only one problem remained.

“And what about this?” Riju had tugged at the braids lining Zelda’s crown. “You want me to undo it and trim it? Otherwise, it’s going to be _way_ longer than—”

“It’s fine,” Zelda murmured, less to Riju and more to herself. “It doesn’t need to be perfect, right?”

She forgot they even spoke of it, indulging in thick hydromelon slices while Riju gushed about her sand seal plushie collection. Years of diplomacy training didn’t prepare her for pillow talk. Then again, _nothing_ prepared her for life behind royal walls.

The sun vanished and the stars graced the skies and the two ladies chatted—about food delicacies and local fauna and ancient legends. As exhaustion settled in their bones and they retreated to their chambers, Zelda continued to smile.

Even when she awoke the next morning, free from the weight of her old hair.


End file.
